


Plan of Attack

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: Sometimes you have to be a LOT MORE OBVIOUS about what you want.Birthday fic for The_Immaculate_Bastard





	Plan of Attack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Immaculate_Bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Immaculate_Bastard/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Immaculate Bastard! Thanks for everything!

“I really don’t think he likes me.”

“Of course he likes you,” Brienne muttered from the kitchen table. “What’s not to like?”

“Right?” Sansa agreed jokingly. “So how is that man completely impervious to my considerable charm?”

There was no answer this time, no reassurance, just the soft shuffle of paper as Brienne flipped another few pages on the magazine she was reading, seemingly bored with the conversation.

“Why don’t you just tell him you like him?” she suggested unhelpfully.

“Oh my god, B, I can’t just _tell_ him! What if he says he’s not interested?”

“Well, then at least you’ll have an answer.”

“A _bad_ answer,” Sansa countered. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye if he knows I like him and he doesn’t like me back. I’ll just… try to feel out where he stands on the whole idea.”

“Is that _all_ you want to feel?” Brienne smirked.

Sansa’s jaw dropped. Her roommate never teased, never japed, to the point where she was certain the woman had been born without a sense of humor. And yet there she was, making what was probably her idea of a dirty joke, and that alone was… suspicious.  

“I don’t suppose something has happened with Jaime.”

“What could happen?” Brienne blushed, suddenly nervous.

“Uh-huh. Okay, well… keep me posted.”

+++++++++++

Sandor put his fork down and reached into his pocket to see the message he’d just received. After a few moments of reading and responding he slipped the phone back into his pocket before retrieving his fork, everything about his demeanor saying ‘don’t ask,’ but Jaime refused to take the hint. As usual.

“What was that?”

“Text from Sansa.”

“Okay, but what _was_ it?”

“She’s asking which necklace she should wear on her date.”

“Necklace?” Jaime echoed doubtfully, cause the brief glimpse he’d managed to catch of the photo in question did not call to mind thoughts of jewelry. “Can I see?”

“No,” Sandor sneered. “It’s not any big deal.”

“Then let me see.”

Several grumbled cusswords later Sandor produced his phone and reluctantly handed it over, Jaime snatched it up eagerly… and whistled low at what he saw. Aside from the fluffy yellow towel across the bottom of the frame the entire picture was skin- bare shoulders, delicate collar bones, a subtle show of cleavage with a little gold necklace… and a full face of makeup. It was so obviously staged Jaime almost laughed.

“Whoa, that is… _loaded._ Boy, you are _so in._ How are you gonna respond? You gonna go over there?”

“I told her simple is better,” he said, taking his phone and dropping it on the table. “Why would I go over there?”

It was a solid five seconds of confused blinking before Jaime understood what he was hearing.

“Hold up. The girl you’ve been pining over for months sends you a naked pic and you’re just sitting there like… like a _potato?”_

“She’s not naked.”

“She’s not wearing a shirt!”

“So?”

“Are you always this dumb?”

“It’s for her _date._ Did you miss that part?”

“And she just _had_ to have your opinion on her necklace, and she just _had_ to be topless when she took a picture?”

“Two.”

“What?”

“Two pictures. And she’s not topless, she’s wearing a towel. Hold on...”

His phone had lit up again- another text from Sansa- and Sandor picked it up too quickly for Jaime to read it then typed out a response as fast as his huge thumbs were able. When he was done he put his phone on the table again, face down, and went right back to shoveling enormous quantities of food into his mouth like nothing at all had just happened.

“What… what was that?” Jaime demanded.

“So fucking nosy…”

“What _was_ it?”

Sandor did that grumbly sigh thing he did whenever Jaime had pushed too many of his buttons- which was pretty often- but answered the question anyway. “She says her date canceled, wanted to know if I’d meet her for coffee since she was already planning on going out.”

“Okay. What did you say?”

“Well I don’t really like coffee,” he shrugged.

“Holy shit, how have I never noticed how stupid you are?”

“Fuck off, Kingslayer.”

“You think she asked you for coffee cause maybe you like coffee?”

“Why else would she ask?”

“To _see_ you, you overgrown moron.”

“Only cause her date bailed on her.”

“Please,” he scoffed, more irritated than he had any right to be. “She probably didn’t even _have_ a date.”

“Why would she make that up?”

“Oh… my god, my blood pressure can’t handle this level of frustration.” Jaime clutched at his heart in melodramatic fashion, but the truth was he was seeing _spots_ over how mind-bogglingly dense his friend was being. “Someone needs to teach you a thing or two about women.”

“Like you know anything about women,” he growled in response. “Been dancing around your own problems, haven’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sandor leveled his seriously-intimidating glare at him. “Is there a _reason_ we’re at this restaurant?”

“New appreciation for Dornish food?”

“You haven’t touched what you ordered.”

“I ate the rice,” he protested lamely, scowling at the bowl of colorful veggies and pinkish-brown sauce. He wasn’t even sure what was in it, just ordered the one thing he thought he could accurately pronounce. The waitress had gently corrected him and given him a sort of patient-but-condescending smile… much like the Hound was doing right now.

“Alright fine, I don’t like the food,” Jaime mumbled just as the problem he’d been dancing around wandered out of the gym across the street, heavy duffel slung over her shoulder. “I like the view.”

+++++++++++

“Hey, Brienne!”

“Jaime… what… where did you come from?” she stammered, a confused look on her face- like one of them was in the wrong place but she wasn’t sure who- and it made him feel like a flailing idiot who couldn’t control his arms and legs. Or his mouth.

“We were just across the street,” he explained, pointing behind him. “Me and Sandor. Right there. At that uh… that restaurant right there. The Dornish one.”  He pointed again.  "Right there."

“Okay?” she drawled slowly.

“So how’s it going?”

“Um. Good. Sorry, just… I’m a little sweaty…”

“What, no, you look amazing. Healthy, I mean. Strong. As always.”

Brienne blushed just like he knew she would, a flush of pink that made her freckles more obvious and all the more adorable. She always blushed like that when he gave her a compliment; it was one of the reasons he gave her so many.

“So…” he continued nonchalantly. “Sandor and Sansa… what a couple of nitwits, right?”

Brienne’s heavy brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“She sent him pictures of herself wearing only a towel.”

“Get out.”

“Said she needed help picking a necklace.”

“A _necklace?”_ Brienne laughed, a soft little exhale that made his heart skip. “That’s so lame. But at least it worked, I guess.”

“But it didn’t!”

“What?”

“He just gave her his opinion about the necklace and that was it.”

“That was _it?”_

“Yeah, and then she asked him to get coffee and he was all ‘well I don’t really like coffee.’”

“Wow, what a potato.”

“Right?”

“She was obviously using it as an excuse to see him.”

“That’s what I said,” he agreed. Of _course_ he agreed. Because now that he knew she understood such a strategy it was time for part two of this little plan of attack. “So, uh… you wanna get some frozen yogurt? My treat.”

“But you just ate.”

“Eh, not really.”

“And it’s almost dinner time.”

“Ah, but it’s _not_ dinner time. It’s _snack_ time.”

“And I… I can’t really do lactose.”

“Right,” he nodded, defeated. “I knew that.”

So maybe she _didn’t_ understand the strategy. Or maybe she _did_ understand it and that’s why she kept rejecting him. Or maybe- and here he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being a little too hopeful- she understood the strategy but couldn’t imagine why he’d be using it on _her._

Brienne’s expressions were always animated in the most interesting ways but right now she had settled back into this confused one, shifting from one foot to the other, a hand tucking a sweaty lock of hair behind her ear while the other played with the zipper on her duffel bag. She hadn’t made a move to leave. That was a good sign, right? It meant she liked spending time with him, didn’t it? But if that was true then why didn’t she ever respond to his overtures? He’d tried everything he knew to do when it came to women, but how did he get through to _this_ woman when she was just as clueless as Sandor? Hell, she might even be _more_ clueless than Sandor.

_Oh, well… when life gives you potatoes…_

Her eyes widened in panic when he stepped up to her but she didn’t retreat, didn’t try to pull away when he slid both hands up into her damp tresses and pulled her in for a kiss.

It was almost exactly how he imagined it would be having her chapped lips against his, stiff and uncertain then slowly warming up to him, melting into him but not in an inappropriate way because Brienne would _never._ And he was careful not to push her too hard, to take more than she was ready to give, pulling away before he overwhelmed her with too much too soon. She liked him; that was all he really needed to know at the moment.

“Jaime…” she whispered, a pained expression on her face. “I’m all sweaty.”

“You look amazing,” he smiled, and showed her he meant it with another kiss.

+++++++++++

“Holy damn shit fucking hell!”

“Wow, you’ve really got a potty-mouth,” Sandor exclaimed, surprised… and a little impressed; Sansa blushed.

“Sorry, it’s just… right there on the _sidewalk?_ Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, how could I mess _that_ up?”

Hell, even if he _wanted_ to he’d never be able to erase it, the image of those two idiots pressed up against each other was burned into his eyeballs forever. Which was… alright, fine, it was kinda sweet. Not that he could ever say that.

“So Brienne has a thing for the Kingslayer,” he said instead. “Who would have guessed?”

“ _I_ would,” Sansa admitted softly. “She never said anything but I could tell. It’s kinda obvious if you’re looking for it. You just have to look for it.”

That explanation sounded like a hint though he didn’t know what she could possibly be getting at.

He’d driven straight to her apartment after leaving the restaurant, certain she’d want to know all about the sidewalk PDA he’d just witnessed. Which was ironic, in some way, since they were _also_ standing out on a sidewalk, out in the open though nothing interesting was happening. Or would _ever_ be happening. She seemed lost in her own thoughts at the moment, looking past him while he examined her- curled hair pulled back from her face, eye makeup and a touch of lip color, blue jeans and dark green tank top… and the dainty gold necklace he’d picked out. For her date.

“Sorry your date cancelled,” he said, watching her reaction.

“What? Oh. Right. Yeah… probably for the best.”

 _Liar._ He could see it plain as day in the way her eyes flicked away from him, the way she tugged at her ponytail, the way she stammered out an explanation…. she was lying, of that he was certain. In fact, it seemed to him there was an awful _lot_ of lying going on, but why would she lie? What was it she wanted that _lying_ was the solution?

 _‘To_ see _you, you overgrown moron.’_

Sandor hated (absolutely fucking _hated)_ any time that golden moron was right, rare as it was. But looking down at Sansa at that moment, watching her bite her lip and practically flutter her eyelashes up at him… he finally had to admit to himself that maybe this was one of those times. And maybe it wasn’t so bad to be wrong, just this once, about this one thing.

“Do you wanna go see a movie or something?” he asked as coolly as he was able; Sansa’s eyes went wide in surprise, _so_ wide that for a heartbeat he was certain he’d screwed up.

“You… you want to do something with me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I was starting to think you didn’t even like me.”

He shrugged. “What’s not to like?”

“Right?” she agreed jokingly then started to laugh, light and jingly and so so happy, and the thought that maybe going to a movie with him was what _made_ her so happy felt like a punch to the throat. “So is it like… a date?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing hard. “I guess it is.”

“Good.”

Hell, maybe he _was_ a potato. Because even after every improbable sign that she was interested he still never would have predicted the way she stepped into him, wrapped her arms up around his shoulders, and pulled him down for a kiss. And he _definitely_ never would have guessed that afterwards she would drag him, unresisting, back into her apartment, the movie completely forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration can be found in the craziest places, and in this case I found it with Lalelilolu, AzraelGFG, mademoiselle_k, and SnowWhiteKnight. Thanks you guys!


End file.
